


only the brave

by divineauthor



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conversations, Depression, Gentle Kissing, Getting Together, Hands, Healing, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, POV Quentin Coldwater, Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, Proof of Concept (The Magicians), Quentin Coldwater Lives, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divineauthor/pseuds/divineauthor
Summary: Life after the Monster was unnervingly quiet.—•—Quentin lives and everything should be fine, but it isn’t.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 20
Kudos: 121





	only the brave

**Author's Note:**

> so i wanted to wanted to write a little something for queliot because i love & miss them so here’s a little oneshot for u <3
> 
> title from: louis tomlinson’s “only the brave”
> 
> the idea that love is only for the brave... is such a queliot idea and i loved this song for them

Life after the Monster was unnervingly quiet.

Quentin didn’t expect anything to happen, he had no set happily ever after goal because he knew by now that it was all bullshit. His only real goal was to get Eliot back and he did. And it was practically a miracle they managed not to fuck up anything else which finally left them to rest and rebuild. But even though he didn’t believe in happy endings, he had hoped, a little stupidly, that things would get better for _him._

Technically, it did, in the most obvious ways. But for Quentin himself… he was adrift. Lifeless, as the world spun around and left him behind with his thoughts and his dreams and his hopes bundled up inside his chest, ready to spill out and die in the cold air. He had kept up a good front, focusing on Eliot healing from an axe to the gut, that he almost forgot about himself in the process.

For the weeks he spent by Eliot’s side, Eliot was rarely conscious. Quentin and Margo took shifts on when they’d watch over him. Quentin, more often than not, took the longer ones as Margo reclaimed her crown and title as High King of Fillory. Apparently, it was Quentin’s shit luck and Margo’s good luck that he managed to miss all the times Eliot was awake enough to talk. He’d always rush back, only to find Eliot in a drug-induced sleep again.

“Sorry, baby,” Margo had said to him, oddly soft, “you just missed him.”

Quentin had huffed out a laugh that he didn’t really feel. “It’s fine.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “I’ll watch over him now.”

She had nodded and left him alone with an unconscious Eliot as per usual.

That interaction had happened so often, Quentin was beginning to wonder if Eliot was avoiding him. It wouldn’t be completely unbelievable, but Quentin had looked at the amount of drugs they poured into Eliot’s body and sometimes he was surprised Eliot could actually wake up. But he hadn’t talked to Eliot since that time in the park, if he could even call it a _talk_ , and he missed Eliot. Missed his voice, his hands, his eyes. Missed the way he wore a vest like he was born in it, missed the easy curves and angles of his body that had been marred by the Monster.

God, it had been way too damn long since he had seen Eliot in Eliot’s body, which was such a fucked up thing to even think about but, you know, _magic._

When Eliot finally woke up in Quentin’s presence, a week after Margo had spoken with him, Quentin had stopped reading Fillory and Further an hour ago and just scooted his chair closer to the bed and held Eliot’s hand. He had been memorizing the lines in Eliot’s palms, running his own fingers across jutted knuckles, tracing his life line, his heart line, when Eliot’s fingers twitched.

Eliot had groaned, low and rough, then squinted as he opened his eyes. Quentin had held his breath until Eliot’s gaze caught his. Eliot wrapped his hand loosely around Quentin’s.

“Hey,” Quentin whispered once he finally found his breath again. He was smiling and trembling a little.

“Hey, Q,” Eliot said, throwing him a soft look. “Been a while.”

Quentin choked out a laugh that was more of a half-sob than anything. “Yeah, yeah, it has been.”

Then, Eliot asked, “Where’s Bambi?”

And Quentin shouldn’t feel hurt, he _shouldn’t_ , because he knew that Eliot and Margo were basically soulmates and Quentin understood that on an intellectual level. But… but Eliot and Margo had talked before and this was the first time Quentin had spoken to Eliot after they got rid of the Monster and he had spent the entire time trying waiting for Eliot to wake up and—

And it just hurt. Because he wasn’t wanted. Quentin shouldn’t be surprised, really. It wasn’t like he was ever wanted. Not in the way he needed, not in the way that counted.

He and Alice ended whatever they had in the first few days of Eliot’s recovery. She was busy with the Library and she had told him she loved him, but he needed to focus on Eliot more. She gave him a pointed stare and he simply nodded, knowing if he tried to explain whatever his feelings were about Eliot, he’d say something wrong because he always did. So he let Alice go and there was something so easy, so simple about it and it was probably the simplest thing about them in their entire relationship, which was a little fucked up to think about.

He didn’t have it in him to say that it wasn’t like that, wasn’t what she was thinking because he did love Eliot. He did, he really fucking did, but Eliot didn’t love him and that was fine. It was fine and he was dealing with it because Eliot was still his best friend and that was enough.

And if his dreams regularly featured Eliot—middle aged and regal with it—on the mosaic tiles, kissing him sore while Teddy was away, then that was his business and his business only.

Quentin coughed lightly and removed his hand to tuck his hair back behind his head. Instead of resuming his position, he leant back in the chair and put his fists into his pockets. “I can text her if she’s close by. Or grab a bunny if you want.”

“Could you?” Eliot asked and Quentin was never one to deny him.

As it turned out, Margo was at Brakebills grabbing a couple of books, so when she came to visit Eliot, Quentin took his leave. His room at Kady’s place was sparse and dusty from misuse, but he took a shower and put on new clothes that didn’t smell like hospital floor cleaner and he almost felt human again.

He didn’t like staying inside for too long, the memories of the Monster taunting him, touching him, threatening him were too fresh, so he plugged his charger into his phone and took a long walk around the city.

Margo texted him updates while he was out, saying that the doctors came by and told her that he was recovering nicely and would be ready to be discharged in a week. Quentin would’ve asked if he would pick Eliot up, but she had said that Eliot wanted to see New Fillory.

It took him ages to respond to that one, but when he did, it was hours later and his fingers were stiff and clunky as he typed out: _ok._

Eliot didn’t need to be watched over, so Quentin didn’t go back and Eliot never asked for him back. So he stayed inside and slept in a place where he never felt safe, ate cold oatmeal on the sofa that reminded him of the Monster looming over him, made a shitty meal in the kitchen where all he ever did was pace around and research how to save Eliot.

Kady was in and out a lot of the time, busy with creating a hedge witch network that wouldn’t alienate people, so he was in here alone a lot. He didn’t feel like he had anywhere to go, though, so he stayed despite how much it felt like the air was too thick, like the walls were closing in.

Margo and Eliot sent him bunnies infrequently over the next month or so and Quentin couldn’t be bothered to send one back. Well, he couldn’t really be bothered to remember to eat most days, so it wasn’t exactly on them for his shitty communication skills. It was like watching over Eliot was his only purpose and now he didn’t know what to do anymore.

He was just tired. Staying awake felt like a burden, so he spent all his time sleeping or trying to sleep. His dreams were the only thing keeping him anchored. The more he slept, the more memories he remembered of the mosaic and Quentin was weak enough to want to bask in it, even if his chest ached when he woke up and pained him more than his empty stomach.

He woke up one day from a dream where he and Eliot finished early and they just laid there in the tiles, bodies spread out in the sun and Quentin had leaned over and kissed Eliot, tasting peaches on his tongue. Eliot grinned into his mouth and tugged him until Quentin was straddling him. They were warm and a little sweaty and they both had chalk on their hands and Eliot’s hands were running down the sides of his thighs and it was so simple and beautiful and—and Quentin woke up crying.

He had breathed in harshly and wiped away his tears and tried desperately to fall back asleep, but he _couldn’t_ and goddamnit he fucking deserved _this_ at least—he deserved a fantasy after all this shit he called his life, but his stupid fucking useless brain couldn’t fall back asleep and he was stuck in bed, heaving sobs until he couldn’t anymore.

He turned to his side and curled up and into himself and quietly wished he died in the Mirror Realm. Because everything worked out for everyone else except him and maybe that was a sign from the universe saying he didn’t matter.

Because he really didn’t. And, God, it hurt like hell.

* * *

* * *

Quentin tried his best to keep up with everyone. He’d liked to think he got by most days. He woke up at odd hours and responded to messages days later, but it was better than nothing. He was trying, okay. His life was kind of quietly miserable, but he was still alive because he knew he would be missed. Not the way he wanted to be missed, but missed all the same.

So when Julia visited him, she had silently sat beside him and stroked his hair even though he knew it was lanky and gross. He leaned into her touch, but stared blankly at his wall. It had been so long since he’d been touched by someone and he wanted more.

“I didn’t know it was this bad.” She sounded regretful. He didn’t say a word. “I’m sorry, Q.”

“Not your fault,” he mumbled, finally turning to face Julia. He couldn’t look at her eyes yet, but her hands were tanned and she was glowing, not the goddess type of glowing, just the normal well-rested kind. It suited her.

“I should’ve been here,” she said. After a moment, she sighed and said, “We should get you to see a therapist. Preferably a magician, but you really need to see one. I don’t think you’d be okay with checking into a clinic right now so—”

“Okay,” he said, just to make her stop. “Okay, I’ll see one.”

“I’ll ask Alice and Kady if they know of anyone who fits the bill, but I’m staying here for now.”

Guilt ate at his stomach and he felt like such a shit human for making her stay behind when she should be out there, discovering herself and her powers.

Julia stood up and frowned. “Where’s Eliot?”

A dull ache settled across his chest again, like an old friend. He responded, “With Margo.”

“In New Fillory?” She seemed surprised, but Quentin didn’t know why. “I thought he’d be here with you.”

He closed his eyes. _So did I,_ he thought. Instead, he said, “Wanted to recover somewhere else, I don’t know.”

She pursed her lips. “C’mon. If you get in the shower, I’ll grab you some food.”

Neither sounded appealing, but he hauled himself up anyway. He already disappointed her enough today. So he stumbled into the shower and turned the heat up until his skin turned pink and he felt almost alive. By the time he got out of the shower, she was on the phone calling someone—probably his new therapist—and she motioned to the pot of chicken soup she had set up on a low simmer on the stove. He poured a decent amount into his bowl and sat down, eating it perfunctorily. Julia gave him a small smile and kissed his forehead and he wanted to stay in that moment forever. Just him and Jules against the world, like before, even before college. Back when they were just little kids in love with Fillory.

But they were grown up now and the world beat the shit out of them until it finally let off for a moment, so Quentin was sitting in a loft that wasn’t his, eating soup he didn’t make, and waiting for Julia to finish making an appointment for him to see a magician therapist. So was the life of Quentin Coldwater.

“...yeah, he’s free tomorrow. Uh huh, yup. Two o’clock, 42nd and 3rd. Thank you, goodbye!” She hung up and leaned against the counter near him. “You got that?”

No, he did not. His face must’ve said it for himself because she just wrote it down on the notepad in front of her. She slid it over and clicked the pen again. He read it and sighed. Getting his life together was a pain in the ass. Checking himself into a psych ward was one thing, but being manhandled into therapy felt like he was a teenager again. The last time he had seen a doctor was on his own volition. He knew his mental health was a pile of shit and he _wanted_ to fix it, at least somewhat. But now? He just wanted to go back to bed, back to his dreams, back to Fillory and Eliot and Teddy and Arielle.

But Julia wanted him to get help and she was his best friend and he would do that for her because he damn well knew that he wouldn’t do it for himself right now. He said, attempting a small smile, “Thanks, Jules.”

She pulled him into a hug and said, “Love you, Q.”

“Love you too,” he replied easily.

And that was it. That was it.

* * *

* * *

After Quentin’s first session with his therapist, a short lady with light-brown skin and a kind smile, he felt like an exposed nerve. They didn’t talk much about what had happened to him specifically with the Monster and Fillory and whatnot. She had simply asked about _him_ and something broke inside his chest and he poured himself out into the open.

He was a mess, stuttering and fidgeting everywhere. But it felt good to talk about it, about himself even though every ounce of his body curled away from it.

So when his session finished and he went back to Kady’s place, he was expecting Julia there. And she was there. Along with Margo and Josh and _Eliot._

Eliot looked good, different from what he was expecting, dressed in darker clothes, but all elaborate and fine like he usually would wear. His hair was a little longer too and he had a cane that looked like the one he used back at the mosaic, except a little more refined. Sleeker. Fuck, he looked beautiful. Always did, always will.

And Quentin was going to _kill_ Julia. He probably looked like he went through the ringer and he shot Julia a glare that she merely shrugged off.

“Q,” Eliot breathed out, his eyes soft and warm.

And Quentin, for the life of him, couldn’t tell anyone why he automatically stepped towards Eliot. It was like Eliot always pulled him closer, like he has his own gravity. It made sense, in all honesty. There was always something larger than life about Eliot.

Quentin couldn’t resist the urge to bury himself in Eliot’s arms, so he rushed forward and wrapped himself around Eliot. It almost brought tears to his eyes when Eliot dropped his cane to the wayside and squeezed him back. Quentin took in a deep, shuddering breath and, Christ, even Eliot’s scent made him melt into the embrace. God, he missed Eliot so much. He felt so much more tangible than his dreams, than his memories.

He vaguely noticed, in an off-handed way, the others leaving the room to give them some privacy—too focused on Eliot.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot said, leaning back and tucking an errant strand of hair behind Quentin’s ear. He kept his hand there and Quentin leaned into the warmth, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Why didn’t you tell me it got this bad? It never got like this back in…” Eliot swallowed. “Back in Fillory.”

Eliot’s hand left his face, but settled on his waist.

Quentin looked away from Eliot’s eyes because they were just… too much right now. “I had you and Teddy to think about, and the quest. It was easier when I had something to do. And you were there when things got tough.”

“I’m still here,” Eliot said.

Quentin shook his head and stepped away. Having Eliot this close was too tempting. He knew he was just a friend and he should act like it.

“You were in Fillory and I, uh,” he said, trying to get his words out the way he wanted them to, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me.” There was an earnestness in Eliot’s voice that made Quentin lock eyes with him. In the cold, late afternoon sunlight, Eliot just looked _lonely_ , like a solitary shadow without a body to anchor himself in. Eliot stepped closer, hesitant. “I’m sorry I ran away.”

“What… what do you mean?” he asked.

“That’s what I do, Q, every goddamn time something scares me.” Eliot breathed out a harsh laugh. “I was gonna tell you when I woke up, you know. Everything. But you looked at me like I was something _good_ and I was scared and apparently not even a murderous monster possessing my body could make me come clean. But this is me, trying to be brave. Like you.”

“El, I don’t understand.” Nothing made sense. What the hell was he talking about? Quentin didn’t particularly feel very brave.

Eliot’s hands rested on his shoulders and squeezed them gently. “Back when we got our memories back and you asked me if we should try again—”

“Eliot, stop, I get it,” he said, but didn’t move away from his soft grip. Quentin couldn’t handle remembering that again. God, it wasn’t like he ever got over it in the first place.

“No, you _don’t_ , Q, because I love you and knowing you wanted more terrified me more than anything else because I’m _me_.”

Eliot loved him. Holy shit, Eliot _loved_ him? But that made no sense because—“But you said you wouldn’t choose me if we had a choice.”

Saying it aloud was itself a torture.

“Quentin,” Eliot said, his eyes glassy. “I thought you wouldn’t choose _me_.”

The reply came tumbling off his lips, “But I’d always choose you.”

Eliot closed his eyes, like he was savoring the moment. “You’re good, Q. Too good for me, but I’m being selfish because I can’t lose you. Not to another person, not to your depression, not even to death, okay? I fucking love you and I’m here because I care about you and I… we work.” Eliot laughed a little, watery at the edges and he looked so beautiful and Quentin could hardly stand it. One of Eliot’s hands traveled up to cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear that Quentin didn’t know was there. “Who gets that kind of proof of concept?”

Quentin smiled, and for the first time in a while he felt genuinely happy. He leaned in and stole a kiss from Eliot’s lips, his mind slowing down to a halt as Eliot brought him in closer. Eliot was soft and demanding and Quentin couldn’t help but melt into him, pliant and willing.

Quentin backed away first and watched as Eliot’s eyes fluttered open. He said, “I love you too.” Quentin took one of Eliot’s hands and kissed his palm, where his heart line laid. “We should try again. For more proof, you know?”

And Eliot grinned and pulled him in for another kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, things will work out fine for Quentin after all.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed !!!! find me on [tumblr](http://useralyssa.tumblr.com/) :D


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